A Deadly Game of Clues (POV)
by alwaysthere39
Summary: Someone is playing a deadly game with the team at the Jeffersonian, and there is a race against time to stop him. switches between POV of Murderer, the team, and the victims. May be M at the back, but T for now. Rate, review and follow!
1. M's DEBUT (perfection has its price)

Hi, this story switches between the POV of the murderer (Indicated by an M), the victims, some stray characters and third-person. Investigative work by the Bones team is narrated in third person. I apologize if it gets confusing, do let me know if what i write starts to become nonsense. (though i hope it won't be.)

It's my first fan-fiction, please review and help me along this journey! anything and everything is welcome. I'll love to hear what you guys want to read too! I'm still learning, and I really hope you'll enjoy this little work of mine :D

"People can tell you to keep your mouth shut, but that doesn't stop you from having your own opinion."  
― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

* * *

_[M's debut]_

It's a beautiful morning. It's not a special morning, the sun's rays only peer around thick clouds that threaten rain. It may hold no particularly memorial event, or historical significance, but still a beautiful morning nonetheless.

It's dawn, and the sky has just tugged off the dreary covers of night. The air feels heavy with moisture and cold; The birds have not dared to disturb the silence yet. I sit at the playground and draw a lungful. My shirt and jeans hang limp with damp. The metal beneath my feet is spared the fat dew drops that have gathered throughout the night. Everything is covered in a thin blue wash; then brightly in high saturated colors the next moment as the sun overcomes the weariness of night. I lie back on the pleasantly moist plastic slide and watch the sun proudly announce the new day.

Suddenly the fragile silence is broken by all sorts of noises at once: the birds, a car honking, gravel crunching under shoes, traffic hum, random chatter. the surrealism of the moment passes. I close my eyes and let the familiarity envelope me. I focus, tune the noise out, breathe slowly and deeply again. the smells are gone, everything fades, until I'm finally at peace within me.

The emptiness is soothing, calming. It speaks of constants I can control, constants that control our humanity, and how it easy to eliminate those constants. Distractions lose their place and purpose. Everything, including breathing is devoid of meaning. I hold the small secret world for a little while longer and blissfully lose myself in the nothingness.

Then I have to open my eyes, and for a second I feel unbearably sad that that private world belongs to only one, the very definition of a lonely place.

Sighing, I open the first cardboard box I had placed under the swing set and begin arranging the scene.

Everything had to be as perfect as nature detailed it.

* * *

This is a glimpse of how M sees the world, don't worry, you'll get to know M a whole lot more as the story goes. Read, review and share, everyone!


	2. A Beginning (another day, another case)

this guy will be important later, so bear with the details about his life for a while. you'll get to know the characters more through him, so he'll prove himself useful. :)

a small look into the calm between each case.

* * *

"Ashe Dunton! Get your bloody lazy arse out of that collapsing bed and on to work, you bum!"

I wake up every morning to that smooth, loud voice, and somehow manage to stumble into the bathroom without cracking my head against the door frame. You'd think they tell you when you marry that the woman you love somehow becomes your bed-sharing roommate with that commanding attitude. "Yeah, Ahwright womah," I holler with the toothbrush stuck in my mouth, rolling my eyes.

10 minutes later, I'm dressed in my boring, stiff security guard uniform and hurriedly stuff my pockets with keys, phone, wallet and grab my jacket from behind the door. Routine flows from my hands even before my brain has caught up and then I'm in my chair at the table. She sets down my usual huge plate of greasy bacon, scrambled eggs and slightly burnt toast in front of me. Smiling, she gives me a peck on my fresh face, and I catch a whiff of sweat and lingering perfume. I grin between stuffing my face and give her hand a quick squeeze when it leaves my face. I burp when I'm done, excuse myself out of habit and plant a buttery kiss on my wife's lips. "I'll be back for dinner, Mrs Dunton! Don't run off before then," I tease and she slaps me playfully on the shoulder. She straightens my tie and badge, gives me another sloppy kiss and I'm out of the door. As usual, I pause and hear her humming to herself as she cleans up and heads off to prepare for another day teaching at the elementary school. I slip my work shoes on and vainly try to rub a little shine into them with my work jacket. Sighing, I head off in the direction of the bus stop.

Five stops later, I'm much more awake and the bus spits me out in front of the Jeffersonian. I stick a practiced smile on my lips and wave at the night guard, Raj. He has a coffee waiting for me at the station and in return I always put a couple of egg sandwiches on the desk when he comes in for the night. Raj has thinning hair, a small beer paunch from weekends in bars and a constant tired face. I, however, am the cheery guard that greets the morning arrivals to the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab. We have an easy, non intrusive routine. I smile and he looks fierce all the time. We joke all the time that we're the perfect team since we're so different.

He stands up, grunts out "Good Morning" and grabs his jacket off the worn leather chair. I beam at him and he lets a small smile loose in return, and shuffles toward the door. "For your eyes only, Ashe," I hear him mumble as he leaves.

"Then how do you greet the ladies then?" I call out and hear him laugh as he heads home. Picking up my coffee, I clip my walkie to a loop on my trousers and on my left shoulder out of habit. I sip it in between clipping keys, holstering my gun and my torchlight, and settle into the routine of the day.

Dr. Camille Saroyan usually arrives first, in her serious pencil skirts and no-nonsense high heels. All business, professional but still friendly, she smiles and nods in my direction as she scans her pass. She goes for her routine check of the Forensics platform and then a beeline to her office while the interns and lab assistants arrive. Dr Jack Hodgins and his lovely wife then arrive; those two are a cheerful bunch that beam all the way through the lab, smiling, winking and giggling at each other. They kiss, hug and then head to their own offices, and soon the whir of the Angelatron starts over the cheerful tinkering of conical flasks. Then Dr Brennan's rotating intern-of-the-day arrives - Wendell, Clark, Arastoo, Finn or Daisy - and they hurry to check their work before Dr Brennan arrives for the day.

The lab is already a whirl of activity before Dr Brennan and FBI Special Agent Booth step in. I remember the days when Dr Brennan was the first and last to leave the lab, and it warms my heart that starting something with that fine partner of hers finally has her looking for life outside of these four walls. Dr Brennan beams a huge smile in my direction as she enters bickering her latest point with Agent Booth. The Agent shrugs at her, rolls his eyes at her when she turns to scan her pass, smiles sheepishly as he scans his pass and hollers after her while he speeds to catch up with his girlfriend. Watching them always reminds me of my wife and I - that trust and fluid easiness we often take for granted.

Then they get the case calls from the FBI and work really begins. Sometimes, it seems like most times these days, the duo don't even get to reach the Lab before the calls start. My heart always breaks when I see their faces as they leave the Lab: all so grim, so steeled and so distant. Some of these cases are even frighteningly horrible. Thank goodness I'm just a guard so I don't have to see the bodies of all of them.

As if on cue, Agent Booth's phone does a shrill cry. A small second later, Dr Saroyan races out of her office as fast as her heels would let her and promptly announces, "Ohhkay, we've got another one! Body dump at the playground two streets from here! move along people, suit up and head out in five!" She races to instruct the forensic van drivers, and everyone else races for their blue suits. Agent Booth mutters into his phone some more, and yells in the direction of Dr Brennan's office that he'll meet her at the crime scene.

I give Agent Booth a nod as he races past the desk to wrestle control of the crime scene for his favorite lab people. He grimaces in response, and I get a sick feeling about this case.

* * *

...and I am terribly sorry I have to end there. I'm rushing out the crime scene, going ove little details, but it'll be a fun one when I'm done. Cheers, and plese review! :)


	3. M's OPENING PIECE (art appreciation)

Here it is, earlier than I expected. Huge thanks to my sis for help me keep the tense consistent. :)

Also HUGE THANKS to all my followers and reviewers.

"What we share with another ceases to be our own." - Edgar Quinet

* * *

[M]

The first scream was absolutely thrilling. Exactly the kind of excitement that raised goosebumps, and made you feel tingly all over. It felt like the discovery of presents on Christmas morning, and I feel almost giddy with adrenaline. Then people started to stop and stare. It was almost an innate reaction of the masses. Like the opening of a gallery, I muse. I allow myself one risky movement, and peek at my exhibition.

I gasp at the atrocity of the scene. The police had arrived, crawling like ants over a dead bird. Somehow, one of the audience managed to call them. Funny how death always attracts the smallest, most prolific of nature first. They scurry to control, wrestle from death what so little remains. They don't think, only function on routine. I critique my handiwork, trying to tame my rising sense of achievement.

You can never count on the police to appreciate perfection. All they do is grimace, then trudge right over your hard work - poking things, shifting the pieces, taking useless photographs of everything. The pathetic yellow police tape does nothing to assuage the fear of the crowd, and I breathe it in, all of it, the sickening sweetness of collective despair. It is an awakening, a glorious buffet of emotions, all so tempting and delicious. I resisted the urge to giggle. After all, the game required self-control and a little public decorum.

Then a rookie officer nudged the body with his boot, and I swallowed the urge to scream. No! My teeth gritted. You unintelligent dim wits! No one ever heeds the warning to leave the displays alone at any museum anyway, I console myself. I consult my watch, and note with a frown that four minutes have passed. My, the Jeffersonian is getting slow. Perhaps they need more incentive next time. I take a last sweeping glance, and leave just as the first deep blue forensics van pulls up.

I also notice, out of the corner of my eye, Agent Booth's face when he finally sees what he's supposed to.

Somehow, I feel pleased.

* * *

...and he's off! The chapters will come in pairs I suppose, because my brain churns them both out at the same time. I tried my best sort any tense an grammer mistakes, do let me know if you find any.

As always, reviews and follows are greatly appreciated, and honest opinion is encouragement. :)

P.S. the next one's kinda GORY. I warned you.


	4. When Blood is Spilled (Booth gets sick)

WARNING, IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH BLOOD, CHILDREN'S DEATHS OR A WEAK CONTROL OVER REGURGITATION, _REFRAIN FROM CONTINUING_.

well, you can continue after the next chapter, it'll be fine then.

**~ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. ~**

IF YOU GET NIGHTMARES, IT'S ENTIRELY MY FAULT. I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE.

HERE WE GO.

- A -

* * *

Booth had started barking orders at the officers before he even saw the scene. He noted with a grimace the gathering crowd of office workers that had stopped out of curiosity, and then did a double take at the look of horror on their faces. Not good, not good at all. Ordering the crime scene to be shielded from public view, Booth checked the faces of the officers, and decided that there was too much green for a normal murder. When was murder considered normal anyway, he chided himself. His mind reeling with every case that had caused him nausea, he steeled himself, and turned to look at the playground.

Whatever he was reprimanding the rookies then died on his lips.

To say it was a body dump was doing the crime scene an injustice. Where was the body anyway, Booth's mind noted with sudden clarity. He swallowed the primal urge to throw up this morning's toast, and really took in the ghastly display.

The first thing Booth noticed was the excessive amount of blood on the slide of the playground. It looked like soft cheese in some places where it had been left to dry and the blood had coagulated. His mind instantly made a connected to lumpy yogurt, and he fought a dizzy feeling. Some of the blood was still dripping onto the ground at the end, and it pooled in a gruesome puddle. The light was dancing off it in an almost mocking way, bright red like a pigeon-blood ruby. The light breeze pulled to him some of the sick, rusty odor and Booth could feel breakfast starting to rise. It smelled fresh, too fresh, his brain noted unwillingly, and Booth wondered if he had seen enough disgusting crime scenes to discern the smell of rotting blood and fresh one. He suppressed the cold chill that came.

He tore his eyes from the blood, with a decidedly off feeling about it. Shelving a mental note to ask Cam, he moved on the swings.

He nearly fainted.

There was a dead girl on the swings, no more than eight years old. Her feet had glittery red ballet flats, with the straps wrapping her ankles. The tips of the shoes barely touched the dirt, and she swayed gently in the breeze. Almost as if she were a fragile display. She was dressed in a weird, old, dirty pinafore, and she sat on one of the seats, head peacefully resting on one of the creaking chains. Well, as peaceful as she could with her neck sporting a huge gash halfway round in front. The blood had dried, but not before it had been spurted all over the ratty dress. Her hair had been brushed delicately, and braided into pigtails, with red rubber bands. The kind you would use to hold rolled-up newspaper with. Her face was frighteningly pale, with sunken sockets, eyes open, grey lips mocking him with a ghost of a smile. Booth noted, with the beginnings of an unwanted queasiness, that there was no blood in her hair, and it was way too neat. Almost as if the sicko had tied it up himself. He resisted the urge to scream, and continued his observation.

Then he spotted the skull, and fought for hold over his breakfast. The little girl cradled it in her small, delicate hands, resting on her lap. It was covered in a mass of maggots, flies thick in a cloud. Booth's mind suddenly snapped up the small detail that there were no flies around the blood on the slide, or on the girl's body. Everything that should be on a dead rotting corpse was fighting for a small spot on that freaky skull, still sporting flesh, empty sockets, and teeth. A cockroach darted over the maggots, and Booth could feel the fight to keep his toast down losing.

He hurried away and asked the closest officer for a barf bag. Now grumpy and stomach rather empty, he resumed his efforts in securing the scene as the forensic vans arrived, making extra care to avert his eyes from the body. He also noted that the officers were unusually quick to set up the shields around the crime scene.

Cam was the first from the Lab to look at the scene, and Booth's deep sense of dread turned into a visible shake when he saw Cam's face drain of color.

* * *

I hope that you haven't followed Booth reactions to the crime scene. I decided to break the crime scene into two chapters due to the amount of detail I ended up writing. The investigation of the crime scene will be less... disturbing.

All reviews, suggestions and follows are welcome. :)


	5. Observations (the team starts work)

The team arrive at the crime scene and begin sleuthing.

IF YOU DIDN'T READ THE LAST CHAPTER, YOU CAN READ NOW. no more gory scenes, for now.

* * *

Brennan had noticed that Cam had stopped walking. She frowned in puzzlement, and scowled as Booth stepped closer to block her view.

"What are you doing, Booth? Where are the remains? What's wrong with Cam?" She asked, concern clear in her voice. "Booth, are you having gastrointestinal difficulties? You look pale..."

"I'm... not feeling too well, Bones. It's just this one's... a little gross," Booth made a face. "Maybe you shouldn't see this..." His tone was pleading.

Brennan considered Booth's request. Whatever had made Booth so anxious must be traumatizing, she concluded.

Their attention was diverted when Hodgins suddenly cursed loudly. He proceeded to apologize profusely to Cam, who had regained her senses but was pinching her nose bridge tightly with her finger tips, as if trying to dispense with a particularly bad headache.

Brennan was suddenly frightened. She had not witnessed such strong reactions from her friends since the cases of the Grave Digger, Jacob Broadsky, Gormogon and most recently, Christopher Pelant. She was briefly relieved that Angela was not here at the moment, as judging by the intensity in which Booth, Hodgins and Cam affected, would severely affect Angela too.

"I think I'll be fine, Booth. I know that your decision was made out of concern for me, and I'm deeply touched." She paused to note Booth's face before she continued. "However, I feel that it would be best if I simply did my job and not let my emotions impinge my judgement."

Booth's face immediately donned an expression of worry.

"I'll be fine, Booth." Brennan assured him. "However, you should probably sit down if you're feeling nauseated. If you have psychologically induced emesis..."

Booth looked confused.

"I mean, if you do throw up, do remember to re-hydrate." Brennan explained.

She started to go around Booth. This time Booth let her win, observing carefully her reaction to the scene. Brennan let out a small gasp, then steeled herself and began her job. Giving Cam and Hodgins (who by now had sufficiently recovered) a small nod, the three of them began to survey the scene. They began on the blood on the slide first, and Hodgins immediately pointed out Booth's earlier observation that there were no insect activity found on the blood. Brennan crouched down and began sniffing at once.

All four of them were suddenly doing it, and Booth blurted out, "Isn't there a faint garlic smell? You guys are smelling it, right?" He took a deep sniff, and his eyeballs nearly popped out when he realized that the smell was coming from the blood itself. Brennan had noticed this earlier, and nodded in response to Booth's reaction. Booth's face immediately lost the rest of its color. "This isn't all blood, but it is fresh though..." Cam observed. "It looks like all the tissue was put through a fine blend, and I can see clumps of connective tissue which the blades missed. Besides, this is too much volume to be simply blood. I'll run some tests after we get all this vacuumed-sealed and back to the Jeffersonian." She instructed two lab technicians to carry out her precise instructions as quickly as possible, before oxidation continued to interfere with the state of the tissue.

Meanwhile Hodgins had spotted the skull in the girl's lap and proceeded to work with his specimen jars and tweezers. He noticed the diversity, but frowned at a few oddities. "Hey, guys, I've got something odd here. All the insect activity here is very varied, BUT," Hodgins paused for emphasis, waving his tweezers towards the skull - "I have several inconsistencies. Blow fly larvae directly feasting on the skull indicate exposure at 7-9 days, BUT I have several species of carrion beetle larvae in the second trimester, another species of blow fly larvae in the third trimester AND an adult_ Periplaneta americana_!"

"An American cockroach?" Brennan interrupted Hodgins' ramblings. "That makes no sense. Cockroaches are certainly not present in such early stages of decomposition, and certainly would not go with the remains if it were exposed as such..."

"You're right, Dr Brennan, it seems like our skull here was left out as food for roughly a week, then covered with a mini bug museum as a means of throwing us off. Fortunately," Hodgins smiled smugly. "I am THE King of the crime scene. Don't worry, I'll get all these lovelies off and check them back at the lab." Finished, Hodgins picked up the skull gingerly and carefully dusted each distinct arthropod species into its own specimen jar, before brushing all the maggots into the last jar. Finished, he handed the skull to Brennan, grimaced at the body one last time, and headed back to the Lab to begin analysis.

Brennan held the skull lightly between her fingers and began. "The victim is Caucasian - based on the high-bridged nasal bone - and is possibly in the late twenties, but younger than thirty. See the complete eruption of the third molar on each side and the complete fusion of the Frontal and Parietal sutures, but not the Temporary sutures? Also, the near perfect alignment of the victim's teeth indicates that he or she received corrective dental procedure in his or her teenage years. Therefore there should be sufficient dental records to make a quick identification once we send this back to the Jeffersonian." She finished her observation. "Age is simply a rough indeterminate at the moment; We'll need to find the rest of the remains to form a better conclusion. There isn't much for me to go on here, Booth."

Booth nodded his understanding at Brennan, and both turned to Cam. While Brennan was making her deductions of the skull, Cam had turned her focus on the fleshed body. Not wanting to remove any clothing and thus lose evidence, she did not have much choice except to observe the wound apparent on the girl's neck. Cam indicated the neck. "It's most likely been slashed with a small blade, pocket knife maybe? The murderer went clean through the major blood vessels, and apparently she bled to death. Most of the blood probably spurted out here on the dress." She took a steadying breath and continued. "The angle of the wound indicates the murderer probably stood behind her, and..." Cam let out a pained sigh. "Why would anyone do this?"

Brennan replied quietly,"I don't know why, Cam, but we will catch them."

The three shared a moment of silence, before Brennan and Cam began the task of transporting evidence back to the Jeffersonian.

* * *

...And the squints are going back to the Lab at last! The crime scene turned out to be more than I had planned, but I'm on fire!

review, suggestions and follows always welcome. :)


	6. Observations II (the team discuss)

HI, I WOULD LIKE TO THANK & BLESS EVERYONE WHO HAS READ THIS AND REVIEWED. **YOU GUYS ROCK TO HEAVEN AND BACK. Bless you :)**

I would also like to apologize for being slow on my chapters, as school has started and I seriously think all the ethanol they use to disinfect the labs here is making me retarded. I wish I worked in the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, I'll totally adore being Hodgins' and Camille's assistant. So jealous of all the interns.

Perhaps I should sent my credentials to Hart Hanson and ask for an intern opening. ;)

**[The team start crime fighting in the Lab!]**

* * *

The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab is all efficiency and focus as the evidence is escorted in from the playground.

Cam can hear all of Hodgins' precious equipment working furiously away, and the background noise is surprisingly calming. She didn't even realize she was so wound up until now. She lets out a small sigh and continues her supervision of the transportation.

In no time, the body is laid out on the lighted lab table in the middle of the forensic platform, and the skull sits on the table beside it. The chrome setting of the Lab helps the team distance themselves from the earlier scene. Brennan, Arastoo and Cam reach the platform first, followed by Hodgins and they gather around the girl as Angela joins them on the platform. Booth has gone back to FBI headquarters to rush paperwork.

"Is it just me, or does she look like a Halloween doll? And what's with the lonely skull?" Angela makes a face. "And her hair is_ freaky_ neat."

"Ange, I think it looked way creepier at the crime scene," Hodgins shudders. "Ange's right, she doesn't have any blood in her hair..."

''Well, I need to do a full autopsy to confirm cause of death, but I think I'll find that she bled out." Cam grimaces.

"Can somebody tell me why she is dressed like_ that_?" Angela points to the glittery ballet flats. "Please tell me she wasn't put in this outfit after she died... It would make this cake so much more... disturbing." Angela repeats Hodgins' earlier shudder, and indicates the lonesome skull on the next table. "And why is _that_ only a skull?"

"It was found on the lap of the girl, Angela." Brennan answers her matter-of-factly, and frowns in confusion as Angela's eyes widen the size of golf balls.

Angela goes a little green as she squeaks, "You mean she was_ holding_ it? Can I go somewhere else now?" She turns to Brennan and waves in the direction of the skull. "Sweetie, just give him to me when my husband has taken _everything alive_ off, and it's free of _gross_ rotting stuff." She carefully avoids looking at the girl again when she hurries back to her office.

Everybody watches Angela's 'escape' from the platform, and Cam clears her throat to everybody's attention. All eyes now turn to the skull, and Hodgins steps forward and gently removes the maggot that are beginning to emerge from the orbits. He explains his findings as he does so.

"It's an unusually high number of activity on such a small space of a body, and I think the murderer was trying to disorient us, and boy he has my vote. Lucky for us I'm the best, so I looked at the larvae closest to the skull. In the flesh itself, there were only blow fly larvae in the second phase, and that tells us the actual time the skull was allowed to decomposed. But-" He pauses dramatically, "I found only on the _surface_ layer blow fly and carrion beetle larvae in the third phase, just before the pupal stage, that were hatched _at the same time_, therefore I deduced that the skull was somehow stored in a cold environment, and that retarded the growth of the larvae on the surface, similar to growth rates in autumn versus spring. "

He takes another breath and continues," So the poor guy's head was separated from his body, put someplace cold, but not freezing, and then put with the rest of said rotting body and then only his head was put with creepy Dorothy there - "

Brennan cuts him off. "How do you know her name is Dorothy, Dr Hodgins? The missing persons isn't back yet."

Hodgins shoots Brennan a look that says 'come on', and waves his tweezers at the red ballet flats on the girl's feet. "Uh, Dorothy and her ruby slippers? No? Originally, In 'the Wonderful Wizard of Oz', Dorothy wears silver slippers, but in the making of the iconic 1939 MGM movie 'The Wizard of Oz' Dorothy wears red slippers to take full advantage of the new Technicolor film process. It's must-know movie trivia, Dr Brennan!" He shakes his head slowly as he grins at his audience.

Brennan simply shrugs and says,"Well, it has never been useful to know movie trivia until this case, Dr Hodgins. However, I think you'll find other explanations on the choice of footwear. For example, 'The Red Shoes', a fairy tale by Hans Christian Anderson, is a ridiculous story about the punishment for greed and self-righteousness being a cursed pair of eternally dancing red shoes. In that story, however, her feet were removed, so it could be in reference of the famous ballet adaptation of the same name instead. That adaptation was simply another version of 'Romeo and Juliet' - "

Brennan finds three pairs of shock and impressed eyes staring at her, and explains,"I did research on all popular fairy tales for proof to Booth why I wouldn't read Christine any of those irrational and silly stories. They simply are outdated reinforcements of common sense." She dismisses the subject of the shoes.

Lifting the skull, she indicates the C2 vertebra at the base of the cranium, and tells Hodgins to swab for any particulates to determine the composition of the tool used in decapitation, then asks Arastoo for his comments on the method of decapitation.

Arastoo is eager to share, and begins, pointing to the small nicks as he explains. "The murderer probably used a small axe. The V-shaped grooves in the bone where he made several strikes to the back of the spine and missed are all at a consistent, wide blade angle about 6 degrees and deeper at the from centrifugal force of a swing. The higher number of grooves on the left of the C2 shows that the body was laid flat on his stomach, with his head turned away from the murderer when decapitation occurred. The lack of perimortem bruising in the bone indicates that decapitation occurred shortly after death." He finished with a small smile and a flourish.

"Very good, Mr Vaziri." Brennan comments by way of conclusion. She instructs Arastoo to find the type of axe used, and to clean the skull after Hodgins has finished all the swabs he needs to do. Arastoo nods, still buoyed by his earlier performance.

Cam informs everybody that she has asked the FBI to run the blood from the playground slide for a DNA match on CODIS, and reminds everyone to check their emails and keep her posted, before she ends the session.

They start leaving the platform to continue their work, when a chilling scream erupts from Angela's office.

* * *

...and they will be back after a few chapters! Tell me what you liked and didn't like! It'll help me improve my writing. :)

Next one is a Victim POV!


	7. Last Breath (Victim POV 1)

Note:

The first formal sections are the FBI memos sent to the Lab. I'm basing it on the informal memos sent between law enforcement and labs here in Singapore, if you guys know the right format, do tell. thanks :)

the second section is the Victim's POV during his/her last moments.

Muahahaha... enjoy!

* * *

_FBI Forensics Report_

_Physical Evidence 1: Human Tissue and Blood found on Area One (Playground Slide)_

_CODIS Match request by Dr **Camille Saroyan**._

_Match found:_

_Mr. Jonathan David Hughes "Black"_

_Physical Attributes: 39 years old, 5 Feet 8 Inches (172 cm), 11 Stone (70 kg), Athletic frame, no health issues._

_Nationality: American_

_Race: Caucasian - Irish American._

_Occupation: Professional Cave Diver_

_- End report -_

* * *

I woke up coughing really badly, and my eyes clenched shut. Every cough just made my head worse.

The air was impossibly hot, and I heard crackling over the sound of ringing in my ears. My brain felt all fuzzy, and my hand instinctively shot up to a small area behind my left ear. My hair was stuck together with drying blood, and I was struggling to remember past the blinding headaches.

I got foggy flashbacks as my head continued to protest. I recall feeling like someone was behind me when I went into the study, and hearing a sickening "thump" as something heavy collided with the back of my skull. I started worrying about concussions, and I realized my ears were ringing.

I tried to take a deep breath to clear my head, and I suddenly realized I couldn't. No, the air was thick with smoke, and a sudden primal fear chilled me despite the feverish air. I forced my eyes open against the onslaught of pain, and in horror I saw that all the books were piled high against the door, on the desk, and that the curtains were all being consumed by a crazed fire. I swerve my head around to try and find an opening out of the fire, my head screaming with each turn.

Instinct was ordering me to stand and run around the ring to find the opening, but years of training to expect the worst kicked in. The fire looked as if it had been started a while ago, while I was out cold. My watch told me I was out maybe twenty minutes, and a singe trail on the carpet meant that the fire was started by whoever wanted to kill me before they left me dead. I knew that I would run out of breathable air soon. I stayed low, grunting against the pain, and began to look for the air tank and respirators I kept in the corner of the study for decor purposes. They were a little old, but would still work. At least, I prayed that they did.

My eyes caught the orange flames glinting off the silver tank, and I felt a rush of relief when I saw that the fire hadn't touched it. I dragged myself a few feet to the tank, and that action cause me to double over in nausea from the pain and lack of air. Soot was beginning to settle on everything, and for a horrible moment, I imagine lying here and watching my body being covered and burnt. I shoved the mental images of myself being fried alive aside, and I grabbed the tank.

I felt that the tank was impossibly cold when my hand touched the metal. the tank was not hot, like everything else in the room, but could it be the metal casing? There was water on the sides of the tank, but I told myself I could be condensation in the heated air. I push my doubts aside, and pull the respirator towards me. I check the gas release, and stuck it in my mouth when I was satisfied it was working. It was a simple air tank with a bubble regulator, so I had about twenty minutes of air. I planned to take deep breaths and look for a way out, so I didn't run out of air. Not that I expected to last twenty minutes in a burning room anyway.

I drew a deep breath, and felt a satisfying rush of sweet oxygen fill my lungs. the air tasted weird though, but I couldn't put my finger on why. I also had a slightly bitter aftertaste, and my tongue went numb. Probably stale air from being left in the study, or soot on everything, or that I had been hit on the head a while ago.

I take another long pull to steady myself before I start searching for a way out, and now I know that something was definitely not right. It felt like the air a diver would use for a bottoming tank, when diver uses different combinations of gases of different density to combat decompression sickness or "the bends". Except that this tank was supposed to contain normal atmospheric air. The air had turned denser, coming out of the tank a little slower, and suddenly the respirator valve failed. The gas that was present in the tank came out in a menacing hiss, and straight down my throat.

I felt as if I was being strangled, and my chest went numb. My limbs had a frightening tingling, and I lay paralyzed on the carpet of the study. I couldn't breathe, couldn't feel, and my thoughts were beginning to scatter. The heat felt distant, and in that instant, I realized that I was definitely going to die.

My last thoughts were not that I was too young, or that I regretted anything I had done. Rather, they whether they were going to find me stiff but still looking like me, or was I going to be burnt to ashes, like the books piled high against the door. Surprise, dying seems so unreal when you're taken so abruptly.

My eyes wouldn't close, and my last thought after I knew that I was never going to ever breath again was whether there would be enough of me to scatter on the ocean when they find my body.

Then my eyes blacked out, and I felt water on my fingers. Then I was gone.

* * *

There you go! Please review, so I can get better with each chapter! thanks!


	8. Two Hours (a realization)

Hi, I'm back! I finished this in between lessons today because one of my lecturers cancelled. :) yay for productivity (of the less important kind! haha)

It's a short intense one, but extremely informative.

**... And the team last heard Angela scream in the Lab! what happened?**

* * *

Angela was hyperventilating when the team tumbled into her office. She was shaking and pointing at the Angelatron screens, and everyone's head snapped to face them.

A few windows were open on the screen, showing Angela's work flow. The newest window contained a rotating 3 dimensional skeleton, complete with close-up, high quality pictures of head trauma and a series of crime scene photographs, all taken rather professionally, Brennan noted.

Angela had found her voice as her husband rubbed her shoulders. "I got a weird e-card for Halloween, and it was from a FBI server. I know they _never_ send those things, so I did a full scan and I checked the coding for the card. Turns out there was a hidden file I found among all that _cheesy_ animation. So I opened the file in an encrypted window, and I get a big flashing sign in green that said **'Mr Black was found dead this morning. Who, What, Where?' **I freaked out when the skeleton suddenly opened in another window, and then you guys got here..."

Brennan studied the skeleton. "The skeleton is of a male, aged roughly early forties, judging by the pelvic bone and the fusion of larger bones. There is an apparent head wound caused by..." She motioned for Angela to bring up the head trauma pictures, "a blunt object, swung by a right-handed attacker taller than him, but this is not cause of death. The wound appears to be caused by a heavy flat object with a rounded edge, and swung when the victim just begin to turn to face his attacker." She paused to scrutinize the pictures, and then threw her hands up in frustration. "I can't find anymore evidence, Angela! These are all pictures! I need the bones!"

Angela nodded and replied," I could make a 3D model of the skeleton using a stereolithograph from the Archaeology department, just like the one with the street performer. This skeleton is really detailed, like _creepily_ detailed." Angela does a dramatic gesture with her hands. "It's like he's sending us evidence because he wants to _play_ with us - "

"I'm sure all of us can catch this psychopath, Angela..." Brennan tries to calm her best friend down.

Camille's phone beeped a serious tone, and she took to out to read the urgent message. Her eyes widened to the size of eggs, and she hastily instructed Angela to open the FBI memos that have just been sent to her email. There were two memos, one detailing the CODIS match of Mr Black to the blood found on the playground slide, the other the results of a detailed toxicity screening of the same blood sample.

There were roughly 7 litres of liquid human tissue at the , well above the blood volume of any human being. Which meant that not all of that was blood, and that Cam was right in her assumption that the organs had been broken down, mechanically or otherwise. Furthermore, there was widespread lysis of the red blood cells, and critically low oxygen levels, even if the blood had exposed for long periods. She relayed the disturbing results to the team, and Hodgins was struck by a revelation.

"Arsine! The blood was the slide was bright red, and arsine is a blood agent! Arsine causes the cell lysis you saw, plus kidney failure at extreme exposure. Arsine is a colorless, flammable gas that does not burn the eyes, nose, or throat. At high concentrations it has a garlic-like or fishy smell, but a person can be exposed to a hazardous concentration of arsine and may not be able to smell it. Arsine is widely used in the manufacturing of fiberoptic equipment and computer microchips. It is sometimes used in galvanizing, soldering, etching, and lead plating. Certain ores or metals may contain traces of arsenic. If water or acid contacts these ores or metals, they may release arsine gas at hazardous levels." He paused contemplatively then blurted out loudly, "OH MY GOD! We could _smell_ arsine at the scene, which means that all of us, save Angie, have been _seriously poisoned_! That must be really high concentration, and it takes anything from two hours to a day before all the symptoms are felt - "

By now, Hodgins felt a panic attack rising. There were several anxious eyes on him, and he realized that no one, except a very worried Angela, had understood his rambling. He took a deep breath, calmed himself as much as possible, and began to detail the situation.

"The main effect of arsine poisoning is to destroy red blood cells, causing anemia from lack of red blood cells and kidney damage from circulating red-blood-cell debris. Initially, exposed individuals may feel relatively well. Within hours after a serious exposure, the victim may develop headache, weakness, shortness of breath, and back or stomach pain with nausea and vomiting; the urine may turn a dark red, brown or greenish color. The skin may become yellow or bronze in color, the eyes red or green. Generally, the more serious the exposure, the worse the symptoms. Although arsine is related to arsenic, it does not produce the usual signs and symptoms of arsenic poisoning. I say we had a mild exposure, including Booth-" Brennan's eyes widened. "- so we have roughly two hours before we feel funny."

There is a deathly silence as the team takes this in. Finally, Brennan asked Hodgins tersely,"Dr Hodgins, what is the antidote?"

Hodgins voice became a strangled whisper as he said, "There isn't one."

* * *

The team has been poisoned! Don't worry, no one from the Jeffersonian is going to die (yet), and not anyone important anyway.

So sorry to end here, but I have lap reports to hand in, and work to go to. :(

The next chapter will be a victim POV!


	9. Blackness (Victim POV 2)

Halloween just passed me by this year! :( Worked a last minute shift, and I'm battling a flu from walking home in the rain. So the chapters are coming slowly, but there are coming!

Victim number two! same format! I discovered after looking at the old FBI files that every format available to man was used, so I decided that the easiest to understand would be the one I'm using now. :)

* * *

_FBI Forensics Report _

_Physical Evidence 2: Human Skull found on lab of Murder Victim One (Facial Reconstruction)_

_CODIS Match request by Mrs **Angela 'Pearly-Gates' Montenegro-Hodgins**  
_

_Match found:_

_Ms Kasandra Josephine Scarlett_

_Physical Attributes: 27 years old, 5 Feet 4 Inches (163 cm), 8.6 Stone (55 kg), slight frame, no health issues._

_Nationality: American_

_Race: Caucasian_

_Occupation: Exotic Dancer at Mason's Strip Club_

_Missing Persons Report filed TWENTY DAYS ago by Mrs Janice Scarlett (Mother) _

_- End report -_

* * *

I love the loud music and bright lights. I always have. From the moment I found music, my body always automatically responded to it. My legs and arms held the beat as a partner would, and the need to dance always came naturally. I loved dancing as soon as I could walk, and all my life I knew I would always end up dancing for a living.

When I saw a stripper for the first time on an experience trip with my girl friends, I was hooked. The girl on that small stage held a power, some sort of magic over all those men. I knew that most girls do it cause they needed the money, but I was in love with the idea that I would always have an audience, and a sort of following. I was already good at dancing, but dancing in theater or plays didn't have as much money as exotic dancing. Plus I could come up with my own routines, something I would never be able to do if I had stayed dancing backups for singers or for a role.

So I started dancing in bars and strip joints, when the stages sucked and the smell of stale beer was always in the air. I didn't care, I was dancing for myself, for the love, for the music. Then someone put a short video of my dances on YouTube, and someone from a higher end establishment found me.

Then I started dancing for private functions, in high-end private clubs, and for the rich. Then the money started to come in, and for the first time in dancing, I felt like a movie star. I ate great food, traveled by jet, enjoyed the company of famous people. I had fabulous costumes, had my own show that sold out, and I enjoyed the hell out of my job. There were always those men looking for something extra besides the dancing, say a tumble in the hotel, but I always said no. I danced, they watched and that was the simple relationship we had.

I have my share of weirdos as a by-product of the job, so when the scrawny thin guy appeared at my hotel room door, I simply thought, _oh great, another pervert. _I smiled and wondered how he had managed to slip past my bodyguard, and I asked him to leave, explaining that I didn't do extras.

I was about to call out for my bodyguard, when he shoved the door inwards with surprising strength. I noticed the frightening expression on his face, a mix of glee and unhinged madness, and my instinct screamed _DANGER! _I opened my mouth to scream.

In a flash of white, there was a thick, strong rope around my neck, and the scream died in my throat. There was a strange gasping sound, and I realized with horror that it was coming from me. My arms struck out instinctively at anything near, and I near a loud crash as a vase collided with the floor.

_How cliché_, my brain commented, before I remembered that the bastard was strangling me from behind instead. I reached round and raked my fingernails down his biceps, and I heard him let out a cry of pain. That earned me a small tinge of satisfaction but I was still struggling to breathe. Small bright spots were beginning to appear at the corners of my eyes, and my head was feeling lighter every second. I was using up my oxygen by fighting him, and he was easily stronger than me. My chest felt impossibly tight, and my legs were losing the fight against gravity.

_No! I can't lose! I can't die yet! This bastard doesn't get to win!_

In a surge of strength, I push him against the wall in the hallway, and I felt the air whoosh out of his lungs. The rope loosened by a blessed fraction, and I gulped sweet air down. Then I felt the rope go taut again and a blind panic set in. I tried kicking backwards, but my legs did not hit anything, and I felt him tug the rope downwards, and I collapse on my knees. I was losing again, all the strength in my body ebbing away. I was screaming internally for my body to fight, but I felt myself drifting.

_NO, no no no nonono, I'm too young to die, what have I done to deserve this, oh God save me, someone..._

There was a terrifying roar of blood loud in my ears, as my hands lost their battle against his arms. They grow heavier, sagging to clutch feebly at my neck, and I can't feel my fingers anymore. I feel my arms drop, and suddenly my body feels unnaturally stiff as I feel the last little bit of life ebb away from my body and a scary, tangible emptiness is left in its wake. My eyes feel as if they have been glued open, and there is a weird second where my brain know I'm to far gone, yet I still try to remember as much of this world as possible. Then a deathly quiet silence as the roar of blood in my head cuts off sharply, and I drop into the blackness that swallows my eyes.

* * *

Two down, and some more to go! M is UP NEXT...

Review, comment, and stay tuned!


	10. M's SECOND (plain grey)

Hi, thanks for reading!

Here's a really overdue one from M, after Ms Scarlett's... unfortunate circumstance.

* * *

[M]

So that's number two down. It was _disappointing_ how quick it was, really.

I didn't realise I was panting until I registered the sweet silence as she stopped thrashing. _Who would have thought strangulation required so much energy?_

Still, I felt a tinge of accomplishment as I stared down as her body. The_ scandalous_ Ms Scarlett. On stage, this body moved and did wonders to the minds of men, but lying here, it looked like a mere broken toy. Like a Barbie whose neck had been twisted at an odd angle, the arms and legs splayed out beside her body in the hall. She wasn't really dead yet, no. Just unconscious from the lack of oxygen to her brain. Why, a rope around your neck for three minutes will do that nicely for you.

I smiled as I flipped her over. All the planning wasn't going to waste, and I hadn't broken any rules. Yet. I tied the white diving rope into a tight dead knot around her neck, then finished the ends into a fancy ribbon on a whim to complete the look. Well, I can't have her waking up on me when I'm driving, can I? All the noise she'll make, and the poor woman will have to through all that messy fuss with the rope again.

I tucked her sleek hair behind her ears. She looked like a strange doll, her skin still soft, face already grey. Her eyes were open though, looking into the after world, a blank sheer in them. I wondered briefly is she were seeing horrors, angels, or nothing. _Guess I'll know when it's my turn_, my brain sang.

I rubbed my palms together with glee at success, then winced as pain flooded my hands. Rope burn, but nothing to be worried about. I made a mental note to wear gloves the next time I had to use my hands for the actual murders. In my defence, she had more strength in her than she looked, considering how slim she was. It must be the dancing.

I hunted the hotel room for her suitcase, and I was really relived to see that she was a practical woman. None of that 'small pink purse' nonsense. A sensible huge grey suitcase, and -_yay!_ - large enough to fit a dead woman. Well, at least I didn't have to make the trip to my car for my own, and I bet it'll drive those smarty-pants nuts trying to find it. I tipped the suitcase out, and I touched everything as much as possible. Me, worried about fingerprints? _oh dear God no_. They will love that I_ never existed anywhere_, trust me - Go _crazy_thinking how anyone in America can disappear so thoroughly.

Anyway, if they do find anything, I'll know and wipe that out at once. A few online gamblers in a FBI office makes your job much easier, really. That, and the fact that nothing's really safe anymore, not when you can Google just about anything. Just got to know the right words to make it work, that's all.

I bet they will _love_ the Christmas e-cards, and Dr Brennan there will be dying,_ dying to get her hands on these bones_. Hmm, I should post them to her in a proper treasure chest. Put game pieces together to see if they have got it yet. _Maybe a silly prank or two. Hmm..._

I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the face towel from her suitcase, and I snicker._ Take my DNA too, dear sir, and see if you can find me..._

I placed the suitcase beside her, and lifted her clumsily into it. I tucked her knees up, placed her hands on them, and try to fit her elbows beside her body. I pushed her head down, cheeks on her fingers, and make sure to pull all her hair into a rubber band before stuffing it in the small of her neck. She fitted perfectly, as if huddling from a bad snow storm in a small space. I closed the suitcase and checked for anything sticking out or showing. I stand it up on its wheels and rattle it a little to see if anything sounded, then I pull it out into the hotel corridor.

No one in the lobby even gave me a second glance as I walked out of the hotel with that suitcase and hailed a cab. The cab driver even offered to help me with stowing the luggage in the trunk, _bless him_.

I smiled at him afterwards as he drove away, and started walking to my car.

* * *

He'll come up again somewhere, I'm sure.

The team's up next! Thanks again for reading, it means so much that people actually bother with my writing!


	11. List of things so far!

**So we're 10 chapters now! Yay! Just to make sure everyone is following the team nicely, here's a short important list of things we know so far! ****This ****fiction is more about solving the crime together with the team, so play along and guess! (the underlined parts are crucial to cracking the crime...)**

**CHAPTER 1 (M):**

- M makes his first appearance, and arranges the crime scene for the team.

**CHAPTER 2:**

- We meet Ashe Dunton, and he brings us to the beginning of a day at the Jeffersonian.

- The team gets called for a case!

**CHAPTER 3 (M):**

- M stick around to make sure the Jeffersonian team arrives.

**CHAPTER 4:**

- Booth gets onto the scene first. It's a playground two streets away from the Jeffersonian.

- There's a dead girl, a de-fleshed skull, and a slide coated with wet blood.

- Booth pukes. :(

**CHAPTER 5:**

- the rest of the team arrives, except Angela.

- They notice a faint garlic smell around the blood on the slide.

- Cam notices it's not all blood.

- Hodgins briefly analyses the insect activity on the skull, and put time of decomposition at roughly a week.

- Brennan determines the skull is Caucasian, late twenties, had dental work done.

- Cam determined that the murderer slit the girl's throat from behind with a small pocket knife.

**CHAPTER 6:**

- All the evidence arrives in the lab, and the team gather to discuss preliminary findings.

- Hodgins confirms that the skull was left to decompose 2 weeks before being found, and had been kept in a cold area for a week before that.

- Arastoo determined a small axe with a blade angle of 6 degrees was used to dismember and decapitate.

- Angela screams and everyone rushes to her aid...

**CHAPTER 7 (Vic):**

- the first FBI memo comes back! It's a CODIS match on the blood on the slide for _Mr. Jonathan David Hughes "Black"_.

- He was knocked unconscious and woke up in his burning study. He dies after breathing from a tampered gas tank.

**CHAPTER 8:**

- Angela's scream was a result of shock from unpacking a hidden folder in a suspicious e-card.

- the folder has a flashing green message, with the words _'Mr Black was found dead this morning. Who, What, Where?', _crime scene photos and photos of a head trauma wound and a detailed 3D skeleton.

_- _Angela agrees to model a skeleton for Brennan using the stereolithograph, who tries to find the weapon responsible for said head trauma. Brennan also determines the skeleton is male, early forties.

- Cam shows the team the CODIS match and the toxicology report for the blood on the slide. Her speculation that there was more that blood on the slide, was correct.

- Hodgins realizes Mr Black was gassed with arsine, and that the team is most likely poisoned as well from breathing in the gas earlier that morning.

**CHAPTER 9 (Vic):**

- Angela gets a CODIS hit for the skull with her facial reconstruction programme and dental records. Belongs to a_ Ms Kasandra Josephine Scarlett. _reported missing by her mom two weeks ago, near time of death.

- She was surprised in her hotel room during her dance tour and strangled to death by a man with white rope.

**CHAPTER 10 (M):**

**- **we learned that M strangled Ms Scarlett.

- He packs her body into her suitcase for transport, and is not worried that his fingerprints or DNA will turn up in records. in fact, he leaves as many as he can as a challenge.

* * *

**Yup! that's all so far! phew! next chapter is a proper one, by the Team! Love all of you for reading this! Take care!**

**PS have you guessed what game M is playing with the team?**

"No human being is innocent, but there is a class of innocent human actions called Games." - W. H. Auden

"Games lubricate the body and the mind." - Benjamin Franklin


	12. Progress (two more CODIS matches)

Oh hey! the team is back! Chapter 12 as promised!

I'm sorry I'm a little slow in posting chapters. Work is taking up a lot of time, and I'm saving up for my photography trips, so I have to work even harder! I'll try really hard to finish chapters quickly, but I really want to take my time to put in details. Thank you to everybody who is reading this and **I LOVE YOU! **

Now back to crime fighting!

* * *

Brennan stills, before she whisks the phone from her pocket and calls Booth to tell him to come to the lab as soon as possible. She also asks him to bring along Sweets, and says she'll explain when he arrives. She allows a small smile to escape her lips when she hears Booth unceremoniously holler for the young doctor just before he hangs up, but not until he manages a quick "love you, bye".

Angela turns to give her husband a long hug, and everybody else is lost in their thoughts. Mainly along the lines of "_if I had two hours left to live, what would I do?"_

Cam surveys her team, and clears her throat. "Dr Hodgins, just to be sure, can you go through the blood sample again? I want a full chemical breakdown of the components, organic or not, normal or not. As quickly as possible, please." Hodgins straightens up with purpose, give Angela a peck on the cheek and dashes quickly to his office. Angela sighs, and decides that since everyone is ignoring the fact that in two hours they are going to be in trouble, she should too. Until she breaks down, that is.

She instructs Arastoo to bring the skull in for her to scan, sensing that identification of the victim is more of a priority now. He does swiftly, and sets in down on a podium in the middle of the room. Angela scans the skull with a wand, and inputs the data into her facial reconstruction programme, and promptly runs a CODIS search on the result. Since that will take some time, she moves on to another clue.

She picks up her tablet and brings up the green flashing message again. "Does this mean _anything_ to _anybody_?" She asks wearily. Brennan shakes her head, brows furrowed, and Cam stares thoughtfully at the words, trying to look for a connection to something she barely just remembered. Arastoo is having an equally hard time. Angela decides she will ask Sweets instead, and she switches to the crime scene photos. The three previously puzzled looks change to scrutinizing ones, and the three scientists peer at the wide screens.

Arastoo is the first to speak. "I think we can safely deduce this is Mr Black. The height, body mass and occupational markers of Mr Black correspond to the body shown, and perhaps the murderer is trying to hint to us something since we do not have his bones." He finishes smoothly, a small frown on his features as he considers the purpose of the message.

"This shows a burned room, but the body is clearly not touched by the flame. The victim is holding on to a regulator attached to an oxygen tank, and he seems unconscious. He could have run out of air and simply passed out, but since we know that this is not the case, we have to assumed the tank contained the arsine. The murderer set the room on fire and tricked him into breathing in arsine thinking it was oxygen. This is officially murder, Dr Saroyan." Brennan finishes all her obvious conclusions, and indicates her boss with the nod of her head.

"You're right, Dr Brennan, Mr Vaziri," Cam murmurs. Her mind is still stuck on a small detail that something about the case is off, but she cannot really figure out why. She turns to Angela.

"Angela, could you pull all the crime scene photos and reconstruct the room at the time?"

"Sure," Angela replies, fingers already furiously working their magic on her tablet. She pulls all the angles of the photos supplied, and places them against a 3D room template. She adjusts the contrast of the pictures, and increases the brightness. She fiddles until the pictures fit seamlessly, and then runs her scanning program to look for obvious and hidden objects in the virtual room. The objects are mapped and put into another 3D replica of the room. The computer quickly works on its own now, and Angela watches as it finishes the scan. It gives a short beep, and Angela enlarges the second, more organised room.

It showed a large and tall room, about twice the size of Angela's office, and two walls were covered by empty bookshelves. There was a desk and chair against another wall, and two armchairs in yet another corner. The room looked grand with large showy windows with half-burnt curtains. There were empty frames hanging on the wall, and Angela suspects the paintings have been ripped out. There was a large pile of ash and half-burnt books in front of the large panel doors.

"Uhm guys, this looks like a really GRAND study, like the one Hodgins has," She suggests. ''Except Hodgins has a wall and three cabinets of pinned bugs, and it's my art on the walls instead of priceless masterpieces." She smiles at her husband's affectionate yet eccentric ways. "All the exits were blocked with fire," She indicates all the burnt drapes and ash - "and all those books would have meant that the room was _choking_ with smoke. Our poor victim was arranged in the middle of the room, here, and the tank was placed just a few meters in front of him. It was like a _breathe this or die_ thing." She finishes by indicating the placement of the victim and the tank. She shivers as she wonders what the victim thought of before he breathed his last mouth of poisoned air, and blanches when she remembers that Hodgins had breathed in the same gas as the guy.

A guitar riff from the computer jolts everybody, and Angela blushes furiously. "That's 'March of the Dead' by rock band Story of the Year... Apt huh? It's my new notification signal from CODIS, if I get more than one hit, " She explains embarrassed. "I hate the continuous beeps - they make me think I'm crazy..." She brings up the new CODIS matches for the two other victims up, and suddenly everyone is absorbed in reading.

Miss Josephine Kasandra Scarlett, aged 27, came back from the facial reconstruction programme and dental records.

A Diane White, aged 9, came back for the dead girl.

* * *

Anybody want to make any guesses on the game?

_Hint: Mr Black, study, Miss Scarlett, rope, Miss White... (It's a board game!)_ Winner gets a shout out and a preview! :D

**NEXT CHAPTER IS DIANE'S TURN!**


	13. A Theory (a ghost haunts)

Hi one and all! thank you again for reading! My exams are over, so I'm back! I'll post more often to make up for lost time, but the length of the fiction has grown considerably since the beginning. to be honest, I envisioned 5 Chapters. I'm already at 12!

I'm sorry but Diane's chapter still needs some polishing! Apparently, kids react differently to fear than my imagination leads me to believe. It'll be ready soon, after I've finished asking all my young cousins what they'll do if they see a creepy dude.

So meanwhile here is everyone's favourite psychologist with his take on the case! Sweets felt really cool to write, because I tried to make him sound younger and more preppy, less old but more intelligent. fresh, but not innocent I guess. Enjoy, because I had fun writing, so you should relax and read!

Bear in mind that this case goes along with all their current cases (oh come on, they can juggle cases, I'm sure) so Sweets is staying with the adorable B&B now.

Note: **Bold means that the character raised their voice**, and_ italics means the word was dragged or emphasized._ All to make the speech more interesting in your head ;)

* * *

"Hey Sweets! Come on, man! Bones is asking for you at the lab!" Booth's commanding voice pulls my concentration from my stack of evaluations of various FBI agents. He appears, like a saviour from boredom, in the doorway, and mockingly gestures toward the lifts of the Hoover Building. His body language, however, is way too demanding and worried to be normal.

I frown at him, and I notice a few things different from when I last saw him in the morning. He looks all fidgety, with a crumpled suit and pants that practically screamed that he did desk paperwork this morning while waiting for the lab to ping back on another case. He's looking at me with a "hurry your ass, boy" look, so he _really_ needs my help in the lab, though he's not sure what.

Wait, go back to what he said.

"Did you just say Dr Brennan _'asked for'_ me? Wow, when did that happen, like ever?" I narrow my eyes at him, hoping with all my heart he isn't tricking me into doing anything. He gives a genuine _I-don't-know-man _shrug, and I quickly stuff my keys, phone and wallet into my pants. It pays to travel light in the lab in case you need to run from anything, and I have my gun and badge so I'm good on self-defence, I guess.

Booth hands me a case file filled with large prints of a crime scene as we brisk walked to the lift, and he starts on his briefing as he jams his fingers repeatedly on the lift buttons. Apparently this has some special effect, because the empty lift suddenly appears. He swears that it's just good luck, but _no one_ always has an _empty_ lift_ ten seconds_ after pressing the button. _No one._

Anyway, he's saying everything he memorized from the case file, and he updates me on the FBI pings for missing persons. He gives me a short commentary of the team and their reaction to the scene, and cautions me that the case is a little gruesome, dead girl and all. I got all that even before reading the file, or strapping myself into the passenger seat.

By the time I'm comfortably in the black Toyota Sequoia, he's finished checking all his mirrors and is already pulling out of the parking space. All practised moves and smooth.

He lets me read the case file as he drives, and it's on Pennsylvania Ave before he starts to speak. Well, Booth could never stand silence in the car, or any other place. He goes all hyper-alert and fidgety. I nod and agree in appropriate places as he starts to say that maybe Dr Brennan wants my psycho-powers to help with the case, now that she has read all my psychology books (still on loan to her, by the way) and has not entirely discredited my work. At least since I've moved in she's really much nicer, and way_ way_ cooler to hang out with.

Booth stops talking when he reaches the intersection on 12th Street and starts to honk loudly at all the cars driving too slowly. I ignore him shouting at the cars and move on to the crime scene photos I've been avoiding.

One glance at all of them tells me that something is seriously disturbing about the killer. I note the placement and the direction of all the subjects in the playground, and realized at once that everything was facing the direction of the Jeffersonian. There was little or no evidence on the half facing away from the Jeffersonian, and the half directly visible from the Jeffersonian was crammed with forensic evidence. Every piece of visible evidence also had a careful placement to it, with a strange off-centre focus. It was like the murderer was_ staging_ the find of the crime, and everything had a twisted sense of purpose to it. Like a stage divided into it's rule of thirds: left, right and centre. If the crime scene were a stage, the playground slide was the opening piece on stage right, and the main character would move to the subject matter towards stage left.

It felt that someone wanted to Jeffersonian to put on a show of a_ perfect_ discovery.

Also made sense why two of the victims were actors.

But if the discovery of the victims were perfect, why did their murders seem so messy? It was like the murderer couldn't decide how to kill someone in the best way possible... Or was it possible that the murderer was not re-enacting one scene, but a sequence of events instead? That would explain the

I must have turned a little green from looking at the crime scene photos, because Booth slows down a little, and shoots me a look of manly concern and reserved pity. I shake my head a little and mumble, "these, uhm, photos get more graphic with every case..."

I hold back the urge to enlighten Booth's eyes to my discovery - I still needed Angela's awesome computer to help me confirm my theory. After all, if I just told him my speculations without someone else around, Booth is just going to look at me like I've gone nuts anyway. So I hold my excitement (it's not appropriate to feel excited but no one has to know) and thoughts until we are in the lab and have met with the rest of the team in Angela's office.

The mood in the office is thick and heavy. Everyone seems to be thinking and all staring at the two latest CODIS matches. They're in a deep discussion about whether the killer knew both of them, and I am completely lost. Booth clears his throat loudly and he has everyone's attention. Suddenly everyone is talking, and I hear snatches of 'poison' and 'time is wasting' being said multiple times.

Finally Dr Brennan raises her voice above the others and announces," Everyone present at the crime scene this morning has been poisoned with arsine gas, and we have roughly one hour left before the effects will be felt!"

Awkward silence ensues. Booth starts to ask about a cure, and I shuffle nervously on the spot. Now is _not_ the good time for a reveal of _any_ sort. I wonder if I should say anything _at all_. After all, I'm the only psychologist around here.

Just then, Dr Hodgins bursts into the lab.

He's sweating, messy and has this hilariously mad grin on his face. I wonder if that's one of the effects of the poison - hysteria. His eyes are impossibly wide, and he looks like he has witnessed the cure for cancer or something close.

He opens his mouth and starts to ramble along at the speed of light: "We _assumed_ that there were extremely high levels of arsine gas due to the presence of a garlic odour emitting from the blood, and connected that to the fact the victim was poisoned by the gas, we concluded that we were poisoned too. _However,_ the arsine in the victim's blood had_ already escaped into the surrounding air long before we arrived at the scene,_ and there were extremely low levels in his fluid tissue! So," He takes a huge breath, "I ran back to the crime scene. Since we know the smell is _not_ arsine gas, I followed my nose, and **TADAAAH**!"

With a maniacal grin and stage flourish, he pulls a grey sachet of something out of his pocket, and the room immediately smells like the kitchen of a Italian restaurant. He shakes it a little, and everyone takes a step back from him due to the sheer power of the smell, even Angela.

"Honey, I love you, but now that we're _not_ going to die, please put that _horrible_ thing away.**_ What_** is it, anyway?" She pinches her nose with her right hand and fans at the air in front of her with the other.

"Oh, it's a scent sachet I made, identical to the one I found _UNDER_ the slide." He raises his hands above his head (along with the foul sachet) and declares, "**KING. OF. THE. LAB!**" It causes the smell to permeate the room even further, but I guessed no one was bothered since it meant they were going to be all right after all.

Dr Saroyan clears her throat, and thanks Dr Hodgins for his invaluable discovery. Hodgins seems to regain some composure at her actions, and grins sheepishly at his earlier display of dominance and victory. Booth, however, just looks pissed and a little bothered by the smell. You can't blame him since he's just found out that he was_ this close to death_ five minutes ago.

"OK, I'm really happy I'm not a dead man, but_ you're_ gonna be if you don't _put that away..._" He fold his arms and takes a threatening step in Hodgins direction, and Hodgins hastily stuffs the sachet into his lab coat. The action wafts the smell towards Hodgins himself, and he turns a really peculiar shade of green. Good to know that even he's not immune to weird smells.

He swallows, and motions for Angela's tablet. She hands him the tablet and kisses his cheek quickly, then takes a step back away from the pungent odour now concentrated on Hodgins' person. He pulls up the mass spectrometer results of the blood on the slide, the contents of the sachet, as well as any additional evidence he found on his short trip to the crime scene. The Angelatron screens now fill with graphs, charts and pictures with their corresponding scientific names. Now everyone goes back to staring at the screens, Booth and I included.

"Now, the murderer made this sachet out of soaking luminettes, or aroma beads, in a pungent, volatile, essential oil obtained by distilling _**Allium sativum, **_or garlic, in water. Garlic contains a sulfoxide _alliin_, and an enzyme called _alliinase. _These two are relatively stable in their separate areas in the garlic cloves, but when the cloves are crushed or broken, the two mix, and the product of that reaction is a thiosulfinate _allicin_, the compound responsible for thecharacteristic odor and flavor of fresh garlic. Allicin is considered the most important biologically active compound in garlic since it decomposes to other sulfur containing molecules (thiosulfonates and disulfides) which have cancer preventing, antimicrobial, antibiotic, antihypertensive, hypoglycemic, and cholesterol-lowering properties, among others. So basically garlic is a health-nut's dream food." He smiles a wide smirk. "Fun fact: Allicin is so unstable that if you rub a clove of garlic into a person's foot, you can smell garlic in their breath ten minutes later!"

"But why would it be at the crime scene? there has to be some other purpose other than scaring the Jeffersonian..?" I can't help but ask. I see a few gears turn in their heads as they process the implications of that motive. Every time we have a murderer directly addressing the Jeffersonian, things have not ended well. Last I checked, we still don't say Mr Vincent Nigel-Murray's name. Guess I'll have to discuss my theory alone with Angela.

Hodgins, desperate to escape the tense silence (and to throw the scent sachet away as he looks like he's about to hurl), hastily hands Angela the tablet back and bolts form the office with the excuse of needing to check on his precious experiments. This causes Cam to clear her throat, and decide she absolutely needs to perform Diane White's autopsy _pronto_. Dr Brennan grabs the skull from Angela's podium and announces that she needs to re-examine the skeleton, and Arastoo tags along to assist. Naturally, Booth follows his partner, and I'm left standing awkwardly in Angela's office while she lights a few scented candles to calm herself down.

I wait until she's seated on her couch, fingers massaging at her temples, before I clear my throat. she looks up at me with a worn expression and gives me a placating smile, waiting for me to launch into another of my theories. I take a deep breath, and begin.

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Okay! I didn't want to repeat his thoughts from earlier, so ending the chapter this way is interesting.

Again, I sincerely apologise for the lack of chapters! I'll post as much as I can. :) as always, reviews are greatly appreciated and loved.


	14. M's THIRD (sandwiches)

this chapter is way overdue! I apologise! Well, I've finally finished all the details, and I have more time now that it's the holidays to write, so here you guys go! Great thanks to my cousins, aged 7 and 5, for their invaluable input to Diane's behaviour.

WARNING: CONTAINS A KID BEING KIDNAPPED. IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THIS, DO NOT READ. THANKS.

okay, now that's out of the way, here's M again. And he's got Diane White! Read on:

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[M]

She was_ so perfect, so sweet, so vulnerable _in that costume that I just had to get her there and then. It meant bringing the timeline forward by a week, but the raw, potent fear and emotion coming out from her now as I worked over the details made everything worth it.

She had the _softest_ chestnut-coloured hair I had ever touched, and such pink skin. She flushed easily, and showed all her emotions so readily. I talked to her as I cut up Ms Scarlett's body, steadily working on the ball and socket joints. She flinched every time the limb disconnected with a "sclurp" noise - kind of a cross between a lollipop suck and a wet kiss.

Oh, what did I talk to her about? Grown-up stuff, mostly. Well, she _couldn't_ reply, seeing as she's all tied up and gagged. So no sense in talking to her about something she would understand - rather just talking to her to get everything off my chest. Like a confession speech to a suicide hotline, you know. Well, she doesn't have long left, and I felt she would appreciate being treated like a grown-up anyway.

So as I chatted (one-sidedly) about the general state of the economy and social decline, she wriggled and wormed in her seat. Stopped moving when I paused my chatter, and resumed her efforts when I continued my commentary. When I finally finished with Ms Scarlett's... _remains _(you couldn't really call it a body any more), I turned to her and asked her, "Are you hungry?"

She looked at me for a quiet second then nodded frantically. I tugged the gag out, one hand signalling that she had to stay silent. I must have gotten through to her because she stayed quiet when the gag left her mouth. I untied her hands, and she watched me, curious and afraid.

"Now, you hook your arms around my neck, and I'll carry you to the kitchen," I instructed. She gave me a hesitant and grossed-out look, and I realised that I was still wearing the bloody apron. I took the apron off with a flourish, and was pleased to find that my clothes were free of any stray spatters. I turned on the spot to show her I was rid of the icky blood, then I motioned for her to stand.

She slid off the stool, and wobbled slightly on the spot. I reached my left hand out for her to hold, and she stared at it like it was going to grow fur. I shook it impatiently, and she squeezed her eyes shut and touched her fingers to my wrist. I grasped her cold fingers tightly as I half dragged her to the kitchen. Well, she couldn't walk very well with her eyes clenched shut, could she?

When she had _finally_ stumbled her way into my kitchen, I locked the door behind us. Immediately her eyes flew open to the size of duck eggs, and her breaths came in ragged gasps. A little too quickly to be healthy, with a slight whine at the end of each exhale. Since I didn't want her hyperventilating on me and falling into a _dead faint (pun intended), _I backed away from her slowly. I also took this chance to notice that it had been 9 hours since I last ate. In my cheeriest voice possible, I offered her a sandwich. Well, to her credit, she didn't immediately say yes. She shook her head frantically at first, but could stop eyeing the bread when I started to make a triple-decker toasted Mayo-tuna-chicken sandwich.

Of course, we all learn that we should _never_ eat anything offered to us by a stranger, much less a _psychopath_, **_but_** I make the _best_ sandwiches in my university department. So it wasn't her fault at all, because who can resist a _perfectly splendid _combination of greasy protein, fat and bread? Even **_I_** adore my own sandwiches. So when it was all warm and ready and served with a huge glass of orange juice, I could practically see her resolve caving. I mean that thing smelt_ fantabulous_. I had made one for me too, so I started to wolf down my own. I had placed her plate_ far, far away _from mine, all the other way at the other end of the table. Not a very big table, but anything helped I guess. Well, I had coffee instead of juice, but exposing a kid to caffeine is _ridiculous_. It screws with their small brains, so she _had_ to get the orange juice.

But there was a small_ something _in the juice not even **_I _**would want to ingest. I almost felt a tinge of sadness and regret as she started to gobble her food up. Poor girl was starved and tired out of her mind.

By the time I had finished my coffee, sandwich and apple strudel as dessert, she had already finished every crumb and drop of her food. She was also fast asleep with her head on the table. I carried her upstairs, hooked the IV to her, and tucked her into bed. Like I said, poor girl was _really, really tired_.

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Well, she's not dead, yet. Really challenging to write this because I wanted M to interact a little more with his victims, and I wasn't sure how someone Diane's age would react.


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